


The Menu

by Fable



Series: Merlin [20]
Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M, Shower Sex, The Tempest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 13:04:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3729964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fable/pseuds/Fable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stage makeup is a bugger to get off but a shower and Bradley's game involving an imaginary menu might help. Set backstage at the Globe Theatre after Colin’s performance in The Tempest and before he greets the fans at the gate.</p>
<p>Bit of a Tempest, Colin in makeup, shower fetish thing going on.</p>
<p>This work is pure fiction and comes from the dark place of my imaginings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Menu

The small wooden walled room was airless and my damp skin tingled in the draft that puffed from under the door. I’d dragged my stifling _Ariel_ costume off before I’d even reached the dressing room. A wide-eyed young girl with a pin badge on her lapel that said Friend had kindly gathered it up for me.

The door opened with no knock preceding it. Bradley strode in, plonked himself onto the plastic chair next to mine, and picked up a rogue peacock feather. ‘I think I was spotted.’

Whilst trying to remove the remains of my white face powder I watched him run the feather continually through his fingers. ‘Hello to you too. Weren’t you gonna come in disguise?’

‘I thought if I had a seat in the top tier at the back no one would spot me.’

I swivelled from the tiny bulb-ringed mirror to face him. ‘You underestimate our lovely fans. Anyway, does it matter if you were spotted?’

‘Well, no… It’s just if I’m seen making the trip to see you in theatre it keeps the fire alight… so to speak.’

‘What fire?’

Bradley’s eyes glimmered as he chucked the feather onto the dressing table. ‘Col, you know bloody well what fire.’

‘The “Colin and Bradley are secretly shagging” fire.’ I waggled my fingers in mock quotation and laughed.

‘That’s the one.’

‘If only they knew the truth.’ I turned back to the mirror. I wouldn’t call us an item, if I was ever pinned down and tortured into telling the truth I would say we were buddies who fucked.

I allowed my thoughts to wander to a place where a naked Bradley had me pinned to the floor and was using the peacock feather in a wonderfully creative way. I shook my head, wiggled uncomfortably on my chair, and crossed my legs. With just my boxers on there was nowhere to hide.

‘Your eyes are still pink.’ Bradley reached across, ran a thumb pad across my eyelid, and considered the blush of colour on his skin.

‘I could do with a shower; stage makeup is a bugger to get off.’ I threw the used cotton wool ball in the bin and pushed up.

As Bradley stood by my side, I caught our reflections in the mirror. I’m a fair bit taller than him. I was regularly filmed standing a few feet behind Arthur as the _Merlin_ Directors said the servant couldn’t be taller than the King. All this amused Bradley no end and he’d tease me constantly.

Bradley took a step towards the door, then a step towards me as if his legs had a mind of their own. Picking up the feather again, he said to it, ‘By the way, I thought you were excellent tonight.’

I smiled at him. ‘Are you trying to worm your way into my affections, Mr James?’

‘I think, Mr Morgan, I’m already in your affections.  What I would like to do is worm my way into your shower.’ He flashed a cheeky grin.

‘It’ll cost you,’ I rumbled.

‘What?’

I didn’t know. Did anyone ever know how to finish that statement? I lamely replied, ‘A back wash.’

‘I can do a front wash as well, if you like?’

Oh, I did like. ‘We’ll have to be quick.’

‘Why?’ Bradley slipped a cold hand around my lower back and under the waistband of my shorts.

I shuddered before blushing as pink as my eyes. ‘I know they’ll be a lot of people hanging around at the gate… I, um, don’t want to keep them waiting.’

Bradley laughed. ‘Col, you are so good with the fans.’

‘So are you.’

‘I don’t have your patience.’

An idea struck that made me want to giggle with the joy it would give. ‘Come to the gate with me.’

‘No.’

‘Why not? It’ll be fun. The crowd would go mad.’

He shook his head, spread his hand out, and guided my backside towards the door. ‘Where’s the shower?’

‘You have a single track mind, Bradley James.’ Reluctantly slipping away from his touch, I grabbed a towel from a hook on the wall and threw on a T-shirt. ‘Unfortunately the bathroom is down the corridor.’

‘The same corridor that’s chock-a-block with crew at the moment.’

‘That’s the one.’

We opened the door to the dressing room and both peered around the frame. A lad carrying a large plastic lobster under one arm walked towards us. We both stood straight simultaneously, I hid the towel behind my back, and beamed an over large grin. He slowed, eyed us as if we’d just fallen off the silly wagon, and then moved on.

‘We look like we’re up to no good.’ I hissed.

‘That’s because I intend to be up to no good in a moment.’ Bradley haw-haw-haw'd like a pantomime villain.

I turned to face him. ‘Do tell.’

‘It involves soapy hands.’

A noise rumbled in my throat as I fiddled with the towel. Bradley had the most fantastic hands, quick, flexible, and probing. They could manipulate me from an upright human into a squidgy, brainless mess in no time. ‘Let’s go.’ I took a step into the corridor followed by the man with the hands, and then we ran.

We ran past the banquet table propped on its side and the giant wings and stilted feet of the _Harpy_ costume. Bradley nodded towards it. ‘Was that fun?’

‘Nerve racking, I kept thinking I was gonna fall. Here.’ I took his arm, pulled him through an open door, and into the bathroom.

‘Bloody hell, it’s a bit small.’ Bradley stood with his shoulders hunched as if to prove a point.

I glanced at the tiny space. A shower in the corner butted up to a washbasin that overlapped the toilet. ‘It’s cosy.’

Bradley turned and invaded my space. ‘And romantic.’

I wouldn’t have called it romantic, the bathroom had seen better days, but I nodded enthusiastically and locked the door behind me with a satisfying click.

Bradley, inches from my face, blue eyed, and floppy fringed, purred, ‘Would you like to see the menu, Sir?’

My knees loosened. By menu, Bradley meant his imaginary list of sexual options. ‘Read it to me,’ I whispered.

‘Well.’ He leant in and dotted kisses under my ear. I tilted my head to allow better access and hummed with happiness. ‘For starters there’s—’ He kissed a line down to the soft part of my lower neck which he knows drives me wild. ‘A soapy ass rub—’ He moved up to the other ear and gently sucked the lobe. ‘Followed by a very through inner thigh massage,’ he murmured.

Grasping the sink for support, I dug my fingers into the slippery surface. I ached for him. I wanted to spin round, hang onto the taps, and howl into the air as he took me from behind but instead I parted my legs, and leaned back. Bradley slotted in so I could feel his body weight, warmth, and excitement. He slid both hands down the back of my boxers, hooked his fingers under my ass cheeks, and lifted, forcing me onto tiptoe.

‘Then?’ I croaked and draped my arms around his neck for balance.

He kissed me and breathed into my mouth, ‘Then? Well, then, there’s a soapy cock wash.’

‘With your boy-next-door blonde hair and blue eyes, you look like butter wouldn’t melt. Is it only me who knows how rude you are?’

‘There’s a few others.’

‘More than a few I’m guessing—’

He silenced me with his lips on mine.

‘Okay. Now,’ I growled.

‘Now?’

‘Right now.’ I resisted the urge to push him into the cubicle fully clothed.

Bradley laughed, hooked his thumbs over the waistband of my shorts, and whipped them down. Then in one swift movement, my T-shirt was over my head. He looked down and rolled a long low noise. ‘There’s a choice of mains,’ he said without looking up. ‘At the top of the menu is the _hand job_ option. Next is the _I fuck you_ choice. Then there’s the _I fuck you senseless_ alternative. Then there’s the very popular speciality choice, _I fuck you within an inch of your life whilst giving you a hand job_.’ He looked up; his eyes were round, glassy, and a touch wild. ‘Which will it be, Sir?’

‘The last one.’ I breathed.

‘And for starters?’

‘All three.’

‘My, Sir is greedy.’

Oh God, I fucking loved this game.

The water ran cold at first and we both squirmed around the tiny cubicle to avoid it. The shower had a fancy soft-soap dispenser on the wall like the kind you see in hotels. When the water reached a comfortable temperature, I washed my face then wriggled round to watch Bradley dispensing an obscene amount of soap into his palms. He looked mighty fine with his tanned skin slick with water, tight ass and muscle strapped thighs. I was a lucky boy. I pushed my wet fringe out of my eyes and enjoyed the anticipation of what was to come.

Bradley had no hands just a cascade of bubbles as he ordered, ‘Turn.’

I duly did so.

Slippery broad hands swirled the lather around my ass, moving in wide circles before his searching fingers explored. It felt so _so_ good. I moaned, gripped the shower controls for support, and pushed my backside out further.

‘Oh, you like this?’ Bradley’s voice was rough and I knew he wanted to take me there and then. ‘Next course.’ He slipped both hands onto my inner thighs and caressed long lines from my knees upwards, lingering at the top to work the soap into the creases. Bradley James had a thing about the creases. Bradly seemed to have a thing about everything. I jiggled with impatience. Nice as it was I wanted the last starter on the menu.

‘Mr Impatient.’ Bradley cooed, reached round, took me firmly in his fist, and with slow, but definite movements, moved up and down. He slipped the other hand between my legs to cup my balls and squeezed gently. Looking down I watched the bodiless hands work me and held my breath. It was the horniest thing I’d ever seen. A shudder ran up from my toes. I was so close. ‘Brad-ley…’

‘Oh, no you don’t.’ He pulled away and I could hear the soap dispenser clacking as he worked the mechanism vigorously, and then purring as he soaped himself. ‘It’s pump-a-rump time.’ He loved that saying, he liked to emphasise the _um_ sounds. Whilst filming, he used to whisper it in my ear at the most inappropriate moments and we’d be scalded for giggling.

Fingers found their way into me, one, two, and three, and then Bradley followed them. I adored the sensation of him slowly filling me up. ‘Main course,’ he grunted as he rocked his hips back and forth building momentum.

Sopping hair covered my eyes and my knuckles turned painfully white as I clutched the shower controls as if my life depended on it. Bradley’s upper thighs were the muscle bound powerhouse behind the pummelling. He never broke rhythm as the fingers on his left hand dug into the thin flesh around my hipbone and his soapy right hand slipped around and gripped me—tightly. I gasped and then let out a long whimper.

This was delirium, I’d lost the ability to think, but I could feel, oh god, could I feel. I was full of him, impaled, and run through by him, taken, and completely in bits. My body was not my own, I belonged to him. He owned me and I fucking loved it. All I could do was hope my fingers didn’t fail as Bradley worked up a merciless in-time rhythm between his hips and hand.

As his panting amplified around the tiny space, I breathed, ‘Bradley, I—’ and thrust into him. He let out a guttural noise and increased the pace; his wet hips thumped my equally wet ass cheeks. Schwump and schluck noises followed as he tightened his grip on my cock. I thought I’d faint. It was too much.

The pace faltered as Bradley sucked in a long breath and then roared as he slammed his weight into me. ‘Col…’ he moaned.

‘Fuc…’ I whimpered, tightened my grip on the shower pipe, arched my back, and came.

We stood panting in the spray for a long moment—connected and soapy. Clearly, we’d used all the water as it now ran cool. I wiped my eyes and waggled a finger in one ear. A loud banging on the door wrenched us both back to the reality.

‘Mr Morgan, are you going to be much longer?’ A gruff male voice said.

Opening the shower door just a little, I squeaked, ‘No.’

‘It’s just we’ve got quite a crowd at the gate and I’d like to move them on as soon as possible.’

‘Okay. Sure.’ I said in an overly singsong voice.

‘Oh, by the way.’ There was a loud cough. ‘Mr James?’

Shit. Bugger. Fuck.

Bradley gave me a pained look, leaned out of the shower, and spluttered. ‘Um, erm, yes?’

‘Will you be joining Mr Morgan at the gate?’

‘Um, no, erm thanks.’

Back in the dressing room, after hurrying past a few all-knowing faces, I pulled on my favourite mulberry coloured jumper, jeans and tatty trainers. A knock on the door preceded the entrance of the lobster-carrying lad, only this time he was crustacean free. He gave Bradley a cursory glance before saying, ‘Are you ready, Mr Morgan?’

‘Bradley?’ I twirled as if I was on a catwalk.

He caught my arm and pulled me into an embrace. The lad looked at his feet. ‘You look ready to me.’

In a dark corner at the backstage door, I wiggled my backside. ‘I can still feel you.’

‘Good.’ Bradley had that look on his face, adoring and unwavering, the gaze that says there’s only you in this whole universe. I’d seen it many times and, I believe, so had the rest of the world. He leaned over and kissed my ear. ‘I love your ears,’ he murmured and the words echoed in my head.

‘You used to call me an elf.’

‘A term of endearment.’ He kissed me again, this time on the mouth. It was full blown and reckless. Anyone could have seen us and that’s what he wanted.

I quivered and considered dragging him back to the dressing room and creatively using the peacock feather. Instead, I pulled away slightly and sighed, ‘Come with me.’

‘I just did.’

‘No!’ I pushed him on the shoulder. ‘You idiot, I mean to the gate.’ Good God, I loved Bradley James, not in a slushy-mushy way but in a soul mate kind of way.

‘Nope, it’s all yours.’

Leaving him lurking in the shadows, I took a step towards the sea of faces and wafts of autograph books. It was a fair walk between the back door and the gate and as the shouts of Colin increased, I glanced back but Bradley had gone. Running a hand through my overgrown fringe, I smiled and held out a hand to the nearest _Tempest_ fan.


End file.
